PLUCK
by Ibookster
Summary: How do you come back from being hit so hard you forget your own name? How do you get back up when you hit the mat so much, it's got your name on it? How does a glutton for punishment roll with the punches? How do you recover from losing everything? Well if you're going to try, you gotta have pluck. Rated M for mature language and violence.


**AN:** This is my third Fan Fic. I hope you like it. Please also check out my other two,  Green to Go and Flight of an Angel.

 **DISCLAIMER:** DC Comics is owned and operated by Warner Brothers, please support the official release.

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 **|NEW YORK CITY  
|January 4, 01:23 2005**

The young boy knelt in the freshly fallen snow as he watched the building by the harbor burn to cinders. He could feel the heat from the flames engulf his face and arms in warmth. As if hypnotized, the boy couldn't look away. In his hands, he held his rubber mask shaped like a bulldog's face. The screams of those inside had faded long ago, but they still replayed over and over again in his mind. They would haunt him for the rest of his life. The only sounds that permeated the air now were the crackle of the fire, and the sound of oncoming sirens. Before long, the police and Firefighters would be here to quench the flames. When they got here, they would ask him why he was there, what connection he had to the fire. He didn't have answered for that. To make matters worse, the police had been cracking down on vigilanties. He had enough evidence on him, between his mask and his costume, for them to throw him into juvi for the rest of his child hood; then into prison for the rest of time. He was not ready to go to juvi.

"Edward?" A voice asked from off to his left.

He panicked. They had seen his face! They knew who he was! He was going to be thrown away! He was going to juvi! He wasn't ready, he was only eleven!

A face appeared in Edward's view. "Edward? Are you OK?"

The man was wearing a mask of his own; his was shaped like a cat, with a blue padded suit. When he reached up to remove his mask, Edward noticed his hands were bound in boxer's tape. He removed his mask, revealing a scarred face with a mess of dark, though graying, hair with dull blue eyes. He looked oddly familiar to the boy, but he was in such a haze of disbelief that he couldn't tell what was real.

"Kid, it's me." He said. "Uncle Grant?"

The man began to check him for any injuries, not taking the time to be careful. The boy vaguely remembered a man his father spoke of training with. But, this man couldn't be him. His father said that this man _trained_ him how to fight. He spoke about him as if like a father figure.

"Did anyone else make it out?"

Flashes of his family's faces appeared in Edward's mind. They were all in there. They were in there when it had gone up. He felt tears spill over his eyelids as he thought it. The boy opened his mouth to respond, but his tongue betrayed him. He could only shake his head from side to side.

"Shit!" Grant swore. He had gotten a call from his old friend, the boy's father, asking for help ASAP. Clearly he hadn't gotten here in time. He looked at the boy. "What happened?"

Edward's eyes got wide. He held onto his sides to try and hold himself together. "It's my fault. It's all my fault!"

Grant glared in confusion. "How?"

"I messed up!" The boy shouted through tears. "I messed up and now..."

Grant thought that he should probably try and comfort the kid. The only issue? He wasn't any good at that sort of thing. He didn't know how to comfort people. Plus, it sounded like the police were getting very close now. He was still technically a wanted man. And if he had to carry around this kid as dead weight, then he was definitely going to be caught.

He stood up and put his mask back on. "Can you stand?" He asked gruffly.

Edward shook his head. "I don't know." He muttered.

"Find out." Grant huffed.

The boy flinched at his harsh words. His gaze shifted to the spot right between his knees. He needed to move. He had to move. Focusing all of his strength on pushing himself up. The most he got in return was that he had started shaking.

He shook his head. "I can't."

"If you can't stand, I can't help you." Grant insisted.

Hearing that, Edward began to panic again. He could not be left here! Once more he tried to move. He pushed himself, screaming at himself in his mind. He fell forward to his hands and knees, but he still couldn't push himself up. He pushed. He tried harder than he had ever tried to do anything before, but try as he might, he couldn't stand.

Grant sighed. "I'm sorry kid." He turned and took off running into the night.

"No! Don't leave me here!" Edward shouted. Once more he put everything he had into pushing himself to his feet. Still, nothing.

"I can do it! I can stand up!" He growled through his teeth. The boy could feel his muscles roar in complaint to his orders. His hand slipped on the ice, forcing his forehead to come crashing down onto the snow covered pavement.

" _Please!_ " He sobbed. "I have nowhere to go!"

Just then, he could hear the crunch of snow as the first-responder showed up at the scene. His heart hammered in his chest as he feared for the worst. The sound of the car door opening made his mind flood with horrible possibilities. He was going to be arrested. He was going to juvi! He was going to be shanked by some kid in a bathroom stall and forgotten about. He just knew he was dead.

"Edward?" For the second time that night, the boy's name confused him.

He looked up to see a police officer in his young forties. He was tall and lanky, with messy blond hair. His pale green eyes were very surprised to see the boy out here. At the sight of him, tears of relief welled in Edward's eyes. Finally able to move, he ran to the man, embracing him. He didn't return the hug.

"Uncle Harold!" Edward sobbed into his uniform.

"Edward, what are you doing here?" He asked. He sounded weird. Edward didn't care. He was just too relieved to see the man that had been helping his family for over two years.

"Say something, Edward!" Harold growled. Edward flinched. He stepped back from the man. He looked furious. "You're not supposed to be here!"

 _He knows._ Was all the boy could think.

"I-I..." He stammered.

Harold sighed. He rubbed his eyes in exasperation before taking a long look at Edward. A small smile appeared on his lips. He opened his arms to the boy.

"It's OK." He muttered. Edward, not needing a second invitation, rushed back into the man's arms. "It's OK." He repeated.

Edward sobbed into the man's chest, too relieved to say anything. "I'm going to fix this." Harold told the boy.

That confused the boy. How? How could you fix something so horrible? How could you make it right?

Something cold and hard was pressed to the side of Edward's head, followed by a metallic click.

"It'll be OK, Edward." He said again.

Once more Edward couldn't move. He was frozen in place by a combination of shock, fear and confusion. He tried, but it still didn't matter. He couldn't move. He was going to die, because he was too stupid to move. Too much of a coward. Too weak. He was a baby. A moron. A loser. A dead loser. He was going to die because he couldn't move. Move. Move! MOVE! **MOVE!**

The gun went off; simultaneously, Edward shoved the skinny man to the ground. The boy crumpled to the ground himself. He was dead. If not, then he was dying. He had been shot in the head, so why did his chest hurt the most? Tenderly, he reached up to touch his head where he had been shot. His hand came away red with blood, but he wasn't dead. How? He felt around his head more, wincing when he touched above his left eyebrow. The bullet had just skimmed him! Unfortunately for him, it took him too long to realize this. Officer Harold was back up and standing right over him, aiming at his head again.

"You, stupid bastard!" He hissed, rubbing his own head. "That hurt."

Once again, Edward couldn't move. He was so useless! He couldn't do anything! He couldn't save his family, and now he couldn't even save himself. He was worthless!

"You were all supposed to die in the explosion." Harold hissed. "But I guess once I throw your dead body in the bay, no one's going to care enough to check."

Edward's heart wouldn't stop beating. It just got faster and faster; and as it did, he could control himself less and less. He need to move or he was going to die. He wasn't ready to die!

Harold clicked back the hammer of his revolver. "Tell your family, I said hi." He hissed.

Edward's family. It was his fault they were gone. He couldn't face them now. He didn't know what he would say. He couldn't die. He wasn't ready.

In an instant, Edward kicked Harold in his kneecap, shattering it. The gun fired safely into the air. Harold roared in pain as he fell to the ground. Edward rolled onto his side and pushed himself to his feet. Before he could think to much, he took off running down the alley. He heard Harold fired several shots after him, making the alley around him explode. The pain must've been throwing off his aim. But not enough. Edward was almost to the corner when his right shoulder erupted in white hot pain so bad he felt his entire arm go numb. A scream ripped his way out of his throat. He collapsed into the wall next to him. Lucky for him, he was just behind a dumpster. He huddled against the metal holding his harm as the corner of the dumpster was rittled with bullets.

Tears worked their way into the boy's eyes. Anyone of his family could've taken out Harold by now. And they wouldn't have gotten shot. He had somehow managed to get trapped behind a dumpster! He had managed to move, but he was still going to die. He had gotten ten feet! Ten damn feet!

"Edward! You're dead either way, just get out here. I'll make it quick. It'll be a mercy!" Harold shouted.

A sob wreaked the boy's chest. Maybe he should. He couldn't survive on his own. He had no where to go. He was injured, and it hurt so much. It would be so much easier to just step out and let it all end. He could stop running. Maybe he could forget about the screams then. Maybe he could actually just... relax.

Edward stepped out from behind the dumpster. He was still crying; he couldn't stop. "Just do it." He sighed. He was tired, and he wanted to rest.

Harold had crawled over to his car and was leaning on it. He grinned. "Don't worry kid. I won't miss again." He raised his gun; pointing it at Edward's head again.

The boy closed his eyes and sobbed. "I'm sorry." He muttered. "I messed up..."

Out of nowhere the building exploded. The sound hit Edward first; a deafening boom like a god's wrath. Then the shock wave. It hit him so hard, it knocked the wind out of him and he was sent flying into the river. As he hit the water his only thought was, _I messed up..._

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 **AN:** Here's another story! As if I needed another one to work on! This is my tertiary story so it will be updated very rarely. But I had this idea so... TA DA! And as always, thank you for reading!


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